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Croc, c'est mon cul

<< Oh la la, elle a un cul à manger, celle-là. >>

This is what a pair of bums said to me in Montparnasse not 15 minutes ago.

I was leaving the Musée de la Poste which was lame. You don’t get to design your own personal stamp! You “personalize” a premade one. They have an ugly + dumb Millenial stamp already printed to which they simply attach a photo of you. They have a little portrait area set up, like for school pictures, complete with tangerine iMac for photoshopping. I asked the computer attendant if I could use the computer myself, and he said, “Pour faire quoi, au juste?” And I said that I just wanted to “personalize” and customize, and he basically told me non. Oh well, at least I tried.

So instead of crying over a lost opportunity, I walked over to the cimetiere du Montparnasse and strolled a bit. Paid my respects to Serge Gainsbourg, naturellement. He is easy to find, on one of the offshoots of the roundabout.

And now, it’s time to start thinking about lunch.

11:53 a.m. - 2001-08-03

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